Under the Midnight Sun
by DestroyShelbeyy
Summary: Virginia Sullivan is a young dancer who is moving from Michigan to London England! She has gotten the part of the lead in a contemporary dance group that performs there. But what happens when she meets a handsome ex-military doctor and his strikingly suave consulting detective friend? Title Credit: "Under the Midnight Sun" by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross
1. Chapter 1

I groan as my alarm sounds off and I whack my hand on top of it, silencing the dreadful noise. My eyes flicker open as I remember what day it is. Today is the day that I finally move from Grand Rapids, Michigan to London, England. I have always wanted to visit there but I never thought in a million years that I would actually be living there. I begin to slowly brace myself for the unexpected journey I am about to partake in.

It all started when I auditioned for the lead spot in a contemporary dance troop in London, England. It takes American music, adds the most incredible dance and brings it to the British people. I have been a great fan of it ever since it began and I was ecstatic to join.

I have been dancing since I was three years old. It has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember. I could never even think to live without it. It has been my savior through my toughest times; especially when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was fourteen. The breathtaking feeling of flying through the air with one lithe hop is what keeps me moving. Being up on stage takes away all my fears and pain and worries.

I then jump out of bed, ready to start my day. I skip to my bathroom and turn on the water—as hot as it can possibly go—and I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is all out of sorts and make-up from last night has smeared underneath my eyes. I squint my eyes shut and give my head a tiny and quick shake. I then step into the shower. I shiver as the scalding water pours over my naked body.

When I get out the shower and dry off, I change into an outfit that is seemingly fitting for a plane ride across the Atlantic Ocean. After I run gel through my hair and put the finishing touches on my make-up, I hear a knock at the door. I briskly walk to the across my apartment and look through the peep hole. I smile and open the door. "Mum!" I exclaim. Now I know what you are thinking: why does she call her "mum" when she's American? I have been calling my mom "mum" since I was eight-years-old. I've always been fascinated with British culture

"Hey, Virginia!" My mom says joyfully as she wraps her arms around me for a hug. As she pulls away, she looks up at my bright face. She cups my cheek. "Oh, I can't believe you're moving… to England!" She lets out a small, almost sad, laugh.

My mother is literally the best! I know it's cliché to say that but it is true! She is a warrior woman that fights and defends my siblings and me with the strength and grace of a Greek goddess. She has always been there for me, especially at my darkest moments. Even when I have treated her terribly with my bipolar, she has always stayed by my side.

"I know it's so exciting! Maybe I'll meet someone!" My love life has been pretty much nonexistent. I then notice the tears in my mother's eyes. "Oh, don't cry, Mum! I can always visit and I'll Skype you as much as I possibly can!" I bring her in for another hug.

"Oh!" She sobs into my chest. "I'm just going to miss you so much! You're my rock, Virginia."

"Come now, Mum. Don't be like that. You've got to be strong or you're going to make me feel incredibly guilty for leaving you here in tears!" I bite my lip.

"Ohh, you're right!" Mum pulls away once again and wipes away her tears with the palm of her hand. "Now let's get your thinks packed up and put in the trucks!"

"You better make sure my payments are getting sent through or I'll end up on Storage Wars!" I joke.

"Oh, you know I will!" She winks at me, letting out a laugh—a happy one this time.

After two hours of packing away my furniture in a U-Haul truck to take to my storage unit and putting my suitcases in my mother's trunk, we are ready to head out. We drop my belongings at the storage unit place. Then we make our way to the airport. We had a party last night to say good-bye to everyone so I would not be emotional the day of my voyage.

My mother helps me with my bags and we stand outside Gerald R. Ford International Airport. I turn to look at her. I stare deep into her hazel eyes, struck with a sudden urge to stay. Am I really doing this? _Can_ I really do this? How will I ever be able to make it on my own? Then I realize something: with everything I have been through, I _can_ do this. Nothing can stop me now.

My mother smiles sadly at me, reading my mind. "You can do this," she says, assuring. "I know you can. If you can get through all the shit you've been through, you can live on your own in London." She places her hand atop of mine against my bag strap on my shoulder. And if you don't like it, I'm always here to help you out. But I know you will thoroughly enjoy it. And like you said, maybe you'll meet someone."

"You're right." I let out a sigh of relief. "I can do this." I then give her a quick hug and head into the airport to leave for my new home.


	2. Chapter 2

I lean against my couch, pushing it into the position that seems right in front of my television. I stand and wipe my brow, admiring my not-so-expert interior designing skills. I then put up some band posters in my room and put away the last of my clothes.

I think about sitting down and watching some television—which I am excited for considering all I watch is British programming but then I get the sudden urge to go for a run. I probably should go see about getting a gym membership or something but I really want to get to know my surroundings here on Baker Street. So I get changed into my running clothes and I head out.

I jump down the stairs in my sneakers and head out the door. I stand there for a moment, taking in the busy street. I notice people walking by, hailing taxis, and buses barreling down the road. I look left and I look right but make my way back to left. This seems like the way to go. So I start.

Endorphins release as I my body reacts to the movement of my legs against the pavement and the in-tune responses of the rest of my body. Sweat is not even close to beading at my forehead—it takes a lot to make me sweat. I make it a couple blocks down before I am hit with a force that seems like a sack of bricks hitting me in the gut.

When I open my eyes after the blow, I notice that I am lying on top of a man! "I am so sorry!" I gush, completely embarrassed. I then notice his cane. I pick it up and then help him. "I'm so sorry!" I continue to say. I then see his face and my speaking ceases. He has kind eyes and he is incredibly handsome. He is short with blondish hair.

"It's alright, it's alright," he says, brushing his stylish coat off. He looks up at me and he seems stopped in his tracks as well. I can feel his eyes travel across my facing, making notes of my blues eyes, my bright, fiery red hair and my smile.

"Once again, I'm terribly sorry," I manage to say. "I probably shouldn't be running on the sidewalk. Heh." I bite my lip and put my hand on my hip, shaking my head. I feel like such an idiot!

It then clicks. "Oh, you're American! How long have you been living here?" He seems so interested. It shocks me. I did not expect the locals to be so warm towards Americans. But that is just a silly stereotype.

"I actually just moved here today. I just thought I'd go for a jog to get a feel of my surroundings." I close my eyes and then open them again quickly, a little tick I have when I'm full of anxiety.

"Well, people don't really run on the sidewalks in London. It's kind of… dangerous." He freezes a moment and then bursts into laughter. I do so as well.

I then realize I still have his cane. I hand it back to him. "Here. Man, I do not miss using one of those!" I laugh nervously.

"Oh, really, you used one of—" the man is then caught off.

"JAWN!" A deep voice bellows. A tall, thin man appears. He has dark hair with a long face. "Jawn! Come now, we must hurry."

"Just a second, Sherlock," the man says. He seems excited all of a sudden.

Sherlock then notices what his companion is currently in the middle of. "Making friends, are we?" He says as he puts his gloves on in a matter-of-fact way. I take note of his seeming distaste in me. Jealous type, maybe?

"Well, anyway," I begin. "I should get going." I can feel the tension and it's making me incredibly uncomfortable.

"Wait," the man says, stopping me. "I didn't catch your name."

"It's Virginia, Virginia Sullivan." I smile shyly at him, holding out my hand for him to shake.

"Well, I'm John Watson and this is my friend, Sherlock Holmes." He gestures to the tall fellow, taking my hand.

"Nice to meet you," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I shake John's hand. I'm not flirting, okay, maybe I am a little. He's cute! "Well, I've got to go. I'll maybe see you around? I just live a few blocks down."

"I'll see you around," John says with a smile, putting his hands behind his back.

I turn and begin my short walk back to my apartment. I can feel John and Sherlock's eyes on my back. I cannot believe I just made such a fool out of myself in front of two handsome men like that in a new country. They must think I'm total American scum! I mean, I knocked over a man on a cane! And then I said I'm glad I don't use one anymore? How horrible! I just hope I never have to encounter either one of them again for fear of embarrassing myself further!


	3. Chapter 3

I have been in London for almost a month now. Dance rehearsal has been going fantastic! I really get along with everyone on my troop except for one girl who is jealous that I, an American "whore", got the lead and she did not. I believe she thinks I am sleeping with the director of the show, but that is her problem, not mine. People talk shit; there is nothing you can do about it.

Since I will be living in London until I am no longer needed in the dance group, I have decided to finally find a general doctor to I see for check-ups and such. I found one and I am going to see him today.

I walk briskly down the sidewalk, bundled up in a warm outfit and coat. I squint my eyes as the cold wind whips against my face and through my hair. I grip my coat closed with my left hand as I open the door to enter the building where the doctor's office is. I walk in and approach the secretary. She is sitting behind the window. She has thinning straggly gray hair and a wrinkled face with an unfortunate frown. "Hello; Virginia Sullivan here to the see the doctor," I say with a joyful smile. I am always incredibly friendly to people that seem down or unhappy.

The secretary grabs a clipboard and hands it to me, smacking it down on the counter. "Fill this out and have a seat." It is late morning and she already seems unpleasant—or maybe she is just like that all the time.

"Okay," I mutter. I pick up a pen and find a seat in the farthest corner. I put my bag down next to my feet and I get busy on my paperwork.

I write and write, getting down to the section that asks if I am aware of any medical conditions and medications I am on. Let us see… I write: "Polycystic Ovary Syndrome and Bipolar disorder" and then "900 milligrams of Lithium, 15 milligrams of Abilify, Tri-Sprintec (birth control)" and that is it. I must sound like such a nut case but they are medical professionals so I am sure they see much worse. I have never been ashamed of my bipolar disorder. I embrace it.

"Virginia?" I hear my name called. I look up to find a tall attractive redhead dressed in baby pink scrubs at the door to my right. "Virginia Sullivan?"

"That's me!" I call over, gathering my things. I give her my paperwork and follow her back to get weighed and to measure my height. I'm still five foot, eight inches and a hundred and forty-five pounds—but I'm mostly muscle. I am then shown into another room where I am to wait for the doctor.

I am sitting on the examination table when a familiar figure walks through the door. "Hello, I'm Dr. Watson," he says, looking at the clipboard I had just given the nurse. John clicks his pen and then looks up at me. "Well, hello!" He says with a laugh.

"Hello!" I laugh. "Nice to see you again, Dr. Watson!" I rub my thighs nervously. Great, I have to face him again. I was such a moron the last time. I just need to stay cool and calm and get through this as best as I can.

Dr. Watson walks closer to me to shake my hand. At this point, I realize how short he is. I guess he is around five foot, six inches and is thicker around the middle, much like a hobbit from The Lord of the Rings. I look him up and down, making mental notes of his clothing, shoes, watch and posture.

"It's nice to see you too! So you're here for a check-up, is that right?" He asks, sitting down on the rolling stool on the floor in between the examination table and his desk.

"Yes, that's right," I answer, my voice cracking from my nerves. I clear my throat and my eyes roam across the room. I take note of the grey carpet, the cornflower blue walls, the chart of the digestive system hanging on the wall across from me.

"Let's take a look…" He stares down at the clipboard. "So you never answered my question… why did you move to London?" He remembered that?

"Um," I begin. "I moved here because I got the lead in a contemporary dance troop here in London." I start to relax as I hear myself speaking and it sounds okay. My shoulders drop from the tension.

"Oh, really?" He asks, looking up. "What kind of music do you dance to?"

"All genres, really. It's most American music, since you guys tend to steal our stuff." I hide a smile. Dr. Watson gives me a flat look. "I'm just kidding!" I burst into giggles.

"I know you are! I was just teasing you!" He waves his hand.

I cross my arms. "Ah, so the Doctor has a sense of humor! That's good to know! I'm sure your wife just loves it."

"No, I don't have a wife." He shakes his head.

"Girlfriend?" I lean forward a little bit, interested.

"No, no girlfriend." He shrugs.

"Boyfriend? Do you and Sherlock…?"

"For Heaven's sake, no!" He seems a little annoyed.

"Sorry, I was just curious. I mean, you already know a lot about me from my clipboard there." I gesture to the paperwork in John's hand. I sigh and lean back on my hands. "Wow…" I mutter under my breath. Smooth moves.

"I'm sorry I snapped," John apologizes. "Sherlock and I get that a lot. I do like women; I don't like men… in that way. And I am single." I smiles happily at me. "We should probably get to your appointment; we can talk while I work."

"Sounds good to me!" I say, grinning and sitting up straight, ready to rock and roll.

Dr. Watson rolls his stool over by me, holding a flashlight. He places his thumb and forefinger on my face, opening my eye wide, and moves the light in front of it. "So what about you? Do you have a boyfriend… or girlfriend?" His breath smells of peppermint, perhaps he had a mint before our appointment.

"No, unfortunately, I don't. My love life is nonexistent. I'm just so busy with dance. I would like to have someone though."

"It seems like all the good ones are taken, eh?" He smirks at me and moves to the other eye.

"Yeah, maybe," I agree softly.

John moves to check my ears next. "So would I recognize any of the music you dance to? Because I would love to see a good show!"

"…Maybe some of the artists, but I probably not most of them. I could always get you tickets if you do want to go. You can get a… doctor discount!" I laugh at my own joke.

"That would be lovely," John snickers.

Dr. John Watson finishes my examination. "Well, I conclude that you are perfectly healthy and you are in fantastic shape!" He half-smiles at me.

I stare into his eyes for a moment. I find him so intriguing, not to mention incredibly attractive. I want to learn more about this Dr. John Watson. So I go for it. I grip the edge of table I'm on look to the ground. "I was… I was wondering if you would like to maybe have dinner sometime." I shoot my gaze back up to meet his.

"I would love to." He exhales deeply, as if he has been holding in his breath the entire time.

"Great!" I say, giddy with excitement. "How about Friday night at around seven? I already know where you live so I'll just come to you."

"It's a date!" John says, shrugging his shoulders.


	4. Chapter 4

I absorb the sights and sounds of central London as I make my way to 221 Baker Street. I walk proudly with a group of people. Men on their cell phones, telling their wives they will be home soon; women carrying grocery bags to fix dinner when they get home. And last of all, a small boy staring at me as he tags along behind his mother, holding onto her hand for dear life. I smile at him and he continues to stare at me as if he can tell something hidden about me. I ignore him and search my gaze above him. The clicking of my heels soothes me as I make my way down the sidewalk.

When I arrive at my destination, an older woman lets me in. I assume she is John and Sherlock's landlady. "Hello," I greet her happily.

"Hello, deary," she answers back. "You must be John's date, Virginia. He's been talking my ear off about you!" The landlady looks me up in down, clearly shocked at my age.

"Good things, I hope!" I say with a laugh. I pass her and make my way up the stairs to apartment B. "Hello?" I call out, knocking on the door.

The door opens to reveal John standing their dressed in a very spiffy outfit. "Ah, Virginia, come on," he conducts me. I unbutton my coat and carefully maneuver into the flat. "Sherlock!" John shouts.

"What? What is it?" Sherlock answers, coming into the room, clearly annoyed.

"You remember Virginia?" John asks, gesturing to me, placing his arm around on my back. He gives his flat mate a nervous smile.

Sherlock's eyeballs search me, making mental notes of my appearance and trying to decipher who I am on the inside. The seconds tick by but I stand up straight and proud, not intimidated by this arrogant know-it-all. "Let's see…" he begins. "Judging by your lack of blemishes and wrinkles and the state of your skin, I'd say you are about twenty-six years old. You are not a natural redhead—your natural hair color is a light brunette. And you're a dancer judging by your muscle mass and posture." He stops a moment and gives John a disappointed look. "What are you doing with a girl that is fifteen years younger than you, John?" He puts his hands on his hips.

John looks at his friend, offended. "That is none of your business. And would you please stop analyzing my date?" He huffs and swipes his jacket from off the coat rack next to him. "Let's go, Virginia," he says is a deep, angered voice.

"It was nice meeting you," I smile at Sherlock as John drags me out of the apartment. He just continues to eye me carefully, still trying to figure everything out.

Once we are outside, John lets out an agitated sigh. "I'm sorry about that. I really am. Sherlock Holmes is an acquired taste and it takes a while to get used to him."

"No, it's fine," I say, placing my hand on his shoulder but letting it drop to my side. "I kind of like him, actually. He is quite amusing," I giggle.

John shoots his gaze up to me, fighting a smile. "Are you serious? You actually _like_ him? Well, that's a first for any of the girls that I have introduced them to." He shakes his head in disbelief.

"You bet'cha!" I say. "And I'm not like most girls." I wink at him. "Now let's get to dinner so we can make it to the movie." I link my arm with his as we walk down the sidewalk to catch a cab.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I'm amazed. It is a beautiful little Italian place with an amazing view of the river. I smile brightly with wide eyes at John, showing my appreciation. He just smiles back, pleased with himself.

"This place is amazing!" I exclaim as our waiter leads us to our table. John takes my coat and pulls my chair out and I take a seat. "Thank you," I express properly as I nestle down in my seat. I look around the room, taking in the romantic ambiance created by the intimate tables and flickering candles.

"I just managed to get a reservation!" John says quickly, sitting down in his own seat. He crosses his left leg over his right and folds his hands on the table. "So, what shall we talk about?"

"Well, you know so much about me. I want to know more about you." I lean my elbow against the table and rest my chin in my hand, ready for a story. "Tell me about your military service."

John takes and breath, thinking and then begins. He tells me old war stories of insane missions he and his sector went on, sparing me the gruesome details—which is reasonable considering it is our first date. Using his hands, he shows me the size of the beetles and scorpions he saw when he was Afghanistan. John seems so comfortable talking about this stuff, like he has forgotten we are in some fancy restaurant. And before I know it, he has me laughing hysterically at the things his friends would say and do, opening up a more soothing and relaxed side of me.

"That is hilarious!" I exclaim, grabbing John's arm and smacking my hand on the table. I throw my head back and out a loud laugh.

"Um, thank you," John smiles weakly, seeing that the waiter is coming back over to our table.

"Excuse me, Miss," the waiter says in a hushed voice, bending down to eye-level with me. "I'm going to have to ask you to quiet yourself once again or we're going to have to ask you to leave. Other patrons of this restaurant have complained about the noise."

My smile is wiped from my face and I look at him and nod. "Sorry, it won't happen again." When the waiter leaves, John and I burst into snickers.

"You're bad," John says, trying to stifle his laughter.

"You're bad, too," I tease back, winking at him. It was more than a wink though. It was quite suggestive. I suddenly fear that it may have been to forward too early.

All the joy is wiped from John's face and I freeze, scared out of my wits. He looks down on his hands as he twiddles his thumbs. "Virginia… can I ask you something?"

"Of course, John, what is it?" I almost put my hand on his but I stop myself and just place my hand on the table, close to me… where it is safe.

"Why are you attracted to me? I mean, I am fifteen years older than you and you're so young and beautiful and you could have any man you want." His gaze rises to meet mine and he licks his lips anxiously.

I lean back in my seat the littlest bit, baffled. "You're not still thinking about what Sherlock said, are you?"

"Well, yeah… but haven't you noticed the stares we have gotten tonight? People are looking at us as if you're my…" His voice hushes to faint whisper. "…Whore or something."

"Let me tell you, John Watson, I don't care what anyone else thinks. I stopped carrying a long time ago. I'm attracted to you because you're smart and you help and care for people and I think you are incredibly sexy." My voice cracks and fades as tears begin to form in my eyes. I bite my lip to keep it from shaking.

John quickly reaches forward and takes my hand. "Don't… don't cry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you upset! I was just wondering!" He scrambles to console me.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I'm the one who should be sorry. I've obviously been way too forward with you and that's made you uncomfortable."

"No, you haven't. I don't feel uncomfortable. In fact… I feel quite comfortable with you." He smiles at me.

"Really?" I ask, wiping a tear away.

"Yeah," he assures me, nodding.

I smile back at him and turn toward the waiter. "Check, please!" I call over.

After John pays for our meal, we walk hand-in-hand to the theatre—which isn't far—to see a new movie that just recently came out. This was an ecstatic time for me. A new British film that I wouldn't have to wait for with an attractive British man that seems to really enjoy my company. I am in heaven!

All through the film, John and I hold hands. It may seem a bit premature to be doing such a thing but it felt so right to have my fingers entwined with his. It feels so natural and right. I believe I'm infatuated already. But it is a bit early to be thinking about such things. But he does seem to feel the same way considering he was not pulling away or anything. He did not try any funny business either.

When the film finished, we caught a cab back to 221 B Baker Street. "I had a really great time," I say to John, stepping out of the taxi.

"Oh, you're stopping here?" He asks, putting his key into the lock of the door.

"Oh, I just wanted to say good-night?" I follow him inside, where we have plenty of privacy.

"Would you like some coffee? That's what people drink in America, right? Coffee?" John asks, nervously. He turns on a light in the entry way.

"I hate coffee," I whisper seductively in his ear. My hands travel from his waist up to his shoulders and around behind his neck. I take a nibble at his earlobe. He lets out a groan. I then pull away, looking him in the eyes. I then kiss him. His tongue is warm and soft against mine. Our lips separate and he leans forward, wanting more. "Goodnight, Dr. Watson," I say and then I'm out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

I have now been on a few dates with John and they have been wonderful! He has taken me out to fantastic restaurants and Dr. Watson has been extremely romantic and gentleman-like. I feel like the luckiest girl alive! Normally, I would be right on taking our intimacy to the next level but I realize this is not America. Not to stereotype, but because he is older and British I feel like I need to be more lady-like. So I have put the idea on hold for now. I want the time to right because I want to really make this relationship mean something.

I stare across the room intently at Mr. Sherlock Holmes as I wait for John to finish getting ready for our afternoon together. Sherlock eyes me impressively, not blinking. He has his fingers together, placing the index underneath his chin. He and I have still not really seen eye to eye. I have been perfectly pleasant but it is obvious that he does not like me.

"Almost ready," John calls from his bedroom. I hear commotion in the other room.

"Alright," I yell back, not breaking my eye contact with the consulting detective. There is something very strange about this man—something I have ever experienced before.

Finally, he speaks. He removes his fingers from his face and places them on the arm of his chair, playing with a loose thread with his right hand, staring at it as he does so. "So where did you say you were from? Somewhere cold, I imagine since you have no tan whatsoever." He slightly rolls his eyes.

"I'm from Grand Rapids, Michigan. You're right; it is cold there, but not all the time. I choose not to go out in the sun for fear of sun damage." I cock my head back, ready for more questions. "Where are you from?"

He ignores my question and continues on with his interview. "And you said you were a dancer? How long have you been doing that?" He continues to fumble with the string, only glancing up occasionally.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Since I was three; But Sherlock, I know you really don't want to know these things. You're just trying to break the silence because you're uncomfortable." I give him a flat look.

"I'm not uncomfortable," he says in an almost harsh way. "I'm never uncomfortable."

I scoot forward just a little bit more, interested. "Really? You never get uncomfortable? I highly doubt that."

"Your doubt is no mind to me," he says in an annoyed voice.

I chuckle the littlest bit, smirking. "If you say so," I mutter under my breath, sitting back in my chair. I run my tongue along my front teeth and on the inside of my cheek.

John finally emerges from his room, groomed and looking handsome, as usual. "Well, it's about time, John!" Sherlock snaps. "Geez, you take longer than a woman to get ready!" He looks to me. "No offense."

"None taken," I say, clapping my hands against my knees and staring down at the rug on the floor.

John then realizes the tension in my room. He looks to me, then Sherlock, and then back to me. "Is he harassing you again?" He asks.

I look up at him and roll my eyes. "No, John, and besides, even if he was," I stand up," I can take care of myself—I'm a big girl." I walk over, place my hands on his chest and give him a smooch on the lips. I can feel the disgust radiating from Sherlock behind me. "Let's go." I grab John's hand lead him out of the flat.

When we reach the sidewalk outside, John stops me. "I'm so sorry. He really needs to stop doing that." He shakes his head and places his hand over his forehead.

I grip the zippers of John coat, adjusting the jacket to look straighter. "And you need to stop apologizing so much! Like I said, I'm a big girl. I can handle Sherlock. He's really not so bad. Now let's go do something fun!" I smile at him.

"Ugh, fine. Let's go." He says. I slide my hand into his and we walk down the Baker Street, ready to go on an adventure. Well, maybe not an "adventure" per say, but we are ready to do something enjoyable together.

We turn the corner. "So what do you want to do?" John asks me, turning his head. His eyes are squinting from the sunlight but I can still see the incandescence shining off his orbs.

"I haven't gotten a chance to go to any of the wonderful London stores yet. We could always go shopping!" I look at him with an amused smile.

"Yeah, I don't think so." He puts his free hand up to his chin, thinking.

"We could… go see a movie," I suggest. I turn us around a corner toward, putting us on the path to the theatre.

"No, we just saw a movie." He is intently thinking.

I move close to him, my lips barely touching his ear. "Yeah, but we could sit in the back and make out." I kiss his earlobe.

John laughs. "As fun as that may sound, I'm not paying that much money just to make out with you when we could easily do that back at my flat or yours."

"Well, we can do that later," I say with a giggle, knowing that there is a good chance that we will be doing that later on.

"Ooh! I know!" John exclaims. "You said this was your first time in London?"

"Yes…" I answer, eyeing him.

"So you've never been on the London Eye!" He stop walking and gives me a bright grin, hopeful that I will be all for his crazy suggestion.

"The London Eye? I don't know about that. I know it sounds cliché but I'm terrified of heights. Can we pick something else?" An unsure expression paints over my face and I bite my lip at the thought of being up that high.

"It may be the tallest Ferris wheel in the Europe but trust me, you'll be fine. You're enclosed pods. Please?" He pouts the littlest bit.

My eyes search his face and I cannot help but give into that adorableness. "Alright, I'll try it," I mumble.

"Great!" John exclaims. He hails a cab and then we roll on our way to the London Eye.

I stare up warily at the massive circular structure before us and I feel all the color drain from my face. I have always been afraid of heights. I think it's a hereditary thing but both my father and grandfather are scared of the thought of being up so high. But I gulp back my fearful response and follow John into the pod.

We sit down on the left. "Are you ready for this?" He asks, looking at me. He hunches his shoulders, ready for the experience.

"No," I mutter almost inaudibly. I chew on my lip nervously.

"You'll be fine," he says, patting my hand. I then grab it and squeeze his fingers tight.

Suddenly, we start to move and I let out a little yelp, frightened and shocked by the jolt of machinery. Embarrassed, I giggle at myself and John joins me. And the couple across the way just chuckle at us. I snuggle close to John, and my body relaxing. I can feel the stares from the other couple. They are probably confused by an older man with a young girl like me. But I'm more concerned with facing my fear at the moment to care.

By the time we reach the top, my hand is white from squeezing on John's so tight. My eyes are shut tight. "We're at the top," John whispers in my ear. I can feel his warm breath against my skin and I instantly feel better. "Open your eyes."

I do as I'm told and I lean to look out the window. I'm blown away by the beauty of the city. The lights, the cars, the people that look like little army ants marching back to their hills. It's all so incredible. I then look back at John, who is smiling amusingly at my awestruck face.

"This is amazing! Thank you for suggesting this!" I sit back in my seat and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"See, I told you that you would like it! Now you have to trust me!" He crosses his arms over his chest, pleased with himself.

"But I already do trust you." I half-smile and look him in the eye and he stares back at me. It is a moment of pure intimacy.

When we exit the Ferris wheel, we decide to just walk around the city for a while. We observe the bustling loads of people, trying to get home in time for dinner; or the Christmas shoppers with their loads of bags and boxes. John and I discuss many different topics, such as our childhoods—more specifically school.

Suddenly, I realize how dark it has gotten. I check my phone to see that's 5:26 pm. "Oh my! I'm going to be late for our team dinner party!" I exclaim. My gaze rises back up to John's face. "I have to go," I say solemnly.

"That's fine," John says, completely understanding my situation.

"Thank you for the wonderful afternoon." I take his hands and move in close. I kiss him, tongues wrestling. My hands then release from his and I place them on his face. I try to pull away but I can't help myself. I'm hungry for him and I continue to embrace him. Finally, I'm able to break away. "Good-bye, John." I then walk away to catch a taxi to take back to my apartment.


End file.
